The Night of the Grim Regret
by Gorgolo Chick
Summary: During the episode 'The Night of the Murderous Spring' what was going through Jim West's mind in that hospital room, and why was he so disinterested in Loveless' scheme?


The Night of the Grim Regret

Gorgolo Chick

I'm a murderer. Me! James West, one of the most trusted agents my government has, and I have committed cold-blooded murder. Not just any old murder, either; not for me. I shot and killed the man who might just as well have been my own brother. Never mind that the fact he was my partner also makes it murder of a federal agent.

"Why?" That was the last thing he said to me before life left him completely.

I don't even know why, Artemus. Why did such rage fill me when you refused to get out of my way and let me do something we both knew was totally foolish? We've disagreed before, and even argued pretty fiercely. Why did your denial enrage me so much? Was it the slight smile as you told me 'No'? How will I ever get out of my head the memory of the awful satisfaction I felt after I shot you, when you lifted the hand that had clutched at your chest and saw it was covered with your life's blood? How could it have been me who callously observed the bewilderment and pain in your face as you stagger toward me, who just stared coldly as you clutched at me for support and slowly collapsed?

Whatever happens to me now will be too good. Now that I've seen the monster in my soul, I don't really want to live with him. Artemus Gordon is dead by my hand, by my deliberate action.

I can't escape that thought; I can't escape these terrible memories. I find I don't even really care to try to escape my current captivity. And yet there's still that little part of my brain that keeps saying everything will be fine. Artie will come and help me escape, and we will turn Dr. Loveless' evil schemes upside down.

But he won't, not ever again. Because I murdered him.

Doctor Loveless is telling me all about whatever it is he's been doing. He wants me to care, to ask question, to take an interest. He doesn't matter, except that it was somehow because of him … but no, it wasn't him who looked my friend and partner in the eye and, when he defied me, shot him with deadly intent. _I'm_ the man who pulled the trigger; who sent hot, killing lead into his body, made him suffer those death agonies along with the knowledge that his trusted partner, the man he was loyal to beyond all question, had suddenly chosen to betray him.

"In the end, none of us can escape." Truer words never crossed Dr. Loveless' lips. He offers me sherry, and when I don't react immediately, he assures me it's safe. I can only hope he's lying, and so I take the flask from him and take a large swallow. I walk away and throw myself into a chair beside the guard. I'm not really listening to him, but once in a while Loveless tries to get me to express an interest. I refuse and insult him, but my thoughts are only on what I've done. They're tearing me apart, this black guilt and the grief I don't have any right to feel.

I've killed before – in the war, in the line of duty. I've even occasionally taken a certain satisfaction in doing so, when it was necessary to protect my country and its people. But this wasn't like that. I wasn't forced to do it, I had plenty of choice. It wasn't for the good of… well, it wasn't for any form of good. I did it out of sudden and unreasoning hatred; hatred I felt where I had cause only for brotherly love, for trust and friendship.

I took a life needlessly that I have often seen offered up without hesitation to save mine. I … murdered … Artemus … Gordon.

No matter how many times I say it to myself I can't understand how I could really have done it. But every moment in that shed has a burning brilliance in my memory. When Artie snapped at me when I came in the door and told me off for being careless in what I knew was a dangerous situation, the anger began to stir in me. Then there was the sound of my enemy laughing, laughing at me, and Artie wouldn't let me rush to the attack. I can feel my revolver in my hand and see the surprise on Artie's face as I turned it to point directly at him. When I ordered him to let me pass, I saw he didn't understand what I could be thinking. He surely didn't realize that I was almost hoping for his defiance of my threat, for a 'reason' to fire. I removed that you-must-be-joking expression from his face and put in its place shock and pain when my bullet slammed him against the wall. I was fully aware every second, but it was as if I only understood what I was doing, had done, and to whom, after he lay sprawled at my feet. Then I knelt beside him and lifted him, only to face that last moment of confusion and dismay in his eyes, to hear him ask me why, and to feel him go limp in death. The memory will never leave me.

I can hear someone outside, and realize Loveless and his minion are gone. Maybe they're returning and, if he's gloated enough, maybe now he'll kill me. I hope so. This time I won't try to stop him and I won't try to escape. I'll just accept whatever he's bringing to me.

I didn't expect he'd be bringing another prisoner, but a hard shove propels a man into my room. He staggers to a stop and spots me. He greets me warmly by name. He's glad to see me.

This is an illusion. He can't be standing there dusting himself off and giving me that grin that says 'Well, we're in it again, but we'll soon get out.' Artemus Gordon can't be standing in front of me looking like he's waiting for the next part of the adventure to begin. Artemus Gordon is dead. I killed him.

I leap to my feet and grab his arms in disbelief, but it is real, solid, _living_ flesh that I feel under my hands.

"Hey, Artie, is that really you?" I ask. He jokes about as if everything is perfectly normal.

"But I thought I shot you." I pull his jacket open, looking for the gaping wound I put there last night.

"You've done a lot of things to me in your time, but you never got around to that."

My mind begins to work again. If _this_ is reality, then …

I can chase away the nightmare for now, with Artie working at my side. But I know it isn't really gone. What I believed in for however long it was - just a little while? - is burned into my memory like a hot brand; like the brand of Cain.


End file.
